‘It looks to me as though someone aimed right at his heart. And that means either an ace shot, or someone he knew well enough to get that close to him. Someone he didn’t expect to shoot him or he thought wasn’t capable of doing so.’
‘Unless he was bound and gagged and unable to move.’
Uckfield grunted an acknowledgement. ‘Bliss should have that list of Swallows’ clients by now. If not, find out what’s keeping her. I’ll get Kenton’s flat sealed off. Marsden can go in there tomorrow. Dennings will instigate a search of the beach where Kenton was found and those woods to see if we can find the weapon but I can’t see this killer going to all that trouble with the corpse and then tossing his gun aside. We’ve got about a good hour and a half of daylight left.’
‘Not in those woods you haven’t, Steve; they’re really dense.’ For a moment Horton thought he’d given away the fact that he’d been there but Uckfield didn’t pick up on it.
‘OK, we’ll go in as soon as it’s light tomorrow.’
‘Better inform Danby. It’s private land.’
‘Yeah, wouldn’t want His Lordship’s nose put out of joint. He might complain to Wonder Boy,’ Uckfield sneered, climbing into the waiting police car. He gave the driver instructions to take them to Newport station, adding to Horton that he’d stay on the island until he had further information from Dr Clayton. ‘Call Elkins, get him to collect you and get that stuff over to the lab and examined pronto.’ But as they drew up outside the police station Uckfield’s phone rang. ‘Bliss,’ he mouthed to Horton and indicated for him to remain in the car.
Horton watched Uckfield, wondering what Bliss had discovered. Uckfield made no comment except to grunt and sniff. Then he said, ‘OK, Inspector Horton will deal with that?’ He rang off. ‘Eunice Swallows says the only client they have on the Isle of Wight is the wife of the man whose apartment you forcibly entered this morning.’
Horton raised his eyebrows. It sounded promising. And it fitted with his theory that Brett Veerman could have seen Kenton following him and approached him. ‘Where do they live?’
‘Just outside Fishbourne. Gulls End, Northwood Lane.’
Not far from the abbey, and if Horton remembered correctly the lane backed on to the Solent. His interest heightened.
‘Interview them both. I’ll get those evidence bags shipped back to the mainland labs.’
Horton handed them over.
Climbing out, Uckfield added, ‘The car will drop you off there but tread carefully for now. You’ll be revealing to Mr Veerman that his wife thinks he’s got a bit on the side and to Mrs Veerman that we suspect her husband of being involved in murder. Tell them as little as possible. Go easy until we’ve got more evidence.’
‘And if Brett Veerman confesses to killing Kenton?’ Horton said with a hint of sarcasm.
‘We wouldn’t be so lucky.’
No, Horton didn’t think they would.
SEVEN
Horton eyed the large contemporary house at the end of a long gravel driveway and thought that whatever Brett Veerman did for a living it paid extremely well. The place must be worth a couple of million pounds at least. Or perhaps it was Mrs Veerman who had the money and she was getting fed up sharing it with her husband’s lover.
He climbed out of the police car, pleased that the rain had abated for a while, and turned his gaze from the timber and glass three-storey house to the triple garage block on his right. In front of it was parked an expensive silver Volvo. The grounds were expansive and well cared for but a little bland, just grass and a few shrubs and trees. The house itself was the last along a private wooded lane and Horton had been correct: it backed on to the Solent. He set off towards the left of the house where he caught sight of the gunmetal grey sea beyond a long stretch of grass, at the bottom of which was a tall, slim man hosing down a dinghy. Beside him to his left was a sizeable timber boat shed.
Horton made to head in that direction when the front door of the house opened and two liver and white Springer Spaniels charged out, careering around him without barking. They were followed by a slim woman in her early fifties wearing stout shoes, khaki trousers and a dark green fleece jacket along with a scowl, which she directed at the police car. She was carrying a dog lead.
‘You’ve come to see me,’ she said crisply in a slightly husky voice that had an edge of condescension about it rather than sexiness.
Eunice Swallows had obviously called Thelma Veerman. He made to show his warrant card but she waved it aside.
‘Can we walk.’ It wasn’t a question. She set off after her dogs at a brisk pace, leaving him little option but to join her. He didn’t mind though. It was better to get her on her own. But he would need to talk to her husband later.
He stopped only to tell the police officer he could go. There was no need for an officer to accompany him to take notes during the interview, which was meant to be low-key and informal according to Uckfield’s instructions. And from here, when he’d finished, he could walk either to the car ferry terminal to the west at Fishbourne or to the hovercraft and fast cat passenger ferry to the east.
Thelma Veerman looked relieved when the police car passed her in the driveway. It turned left as they turned right on to a footpath that led to the abbey and the car ferry terminal beyond it.
‘You know why I’m here?’ he began. How much had Eunice Swallows told her?
‘It’s because Mr Kenton is dead.’
‘Yes.’ He’d have preferred to break the news himself, to gauge her reaction, but he guessed that Ms Swallows was trying to do a damage limitation exercise by forewarning her client. Thelma Veerman seemed tense and anxious, understandably so thought Horton. He waited for her to ask the usual questions. How did he die? Where was he found? But she made no further comment. ‘Was Jasper Kenton your contact at the Swallows Agency?’ he asked when it seemed clear she wasn’t going to speak. The dogs raced ahead of them along the deserted gravel footpath, sniffing the ground in a zigzag pattern as they went.
‘Yes.’ She brushed her shoulder-length fine fair hair off her face, which he noted wore a perpetual frown. Her grey-blue eyes, though sharp, also held suspicion, which wasn’t unexpected given his arrival and the subject matter, but there was also an air of superiority about her that might have been to disguise her unease or possibly even shyness. She seemed reluctant to expand – was that out of embarrassment, he wondered, rather than a deliberate ploy to be uncooperative because she was ashamed of having called in a private investigator to spy on her husband?
‘How long had you known Mr Kenton?’
She flashed him a surprised look. ‘I didn’t know him.’
‘But he was helping you with regards to your enquiry. You must have had contact with him.’
‘Of course I did but that’s not the same as knowing someone.’
OK, so he’d rephrase the question. ‘What were your impressions of Mr Kenton?’
‘He seemed very professional. A quiet man. Thoughtful rather than forceful.’ She eyed him keenly. ‘Do you think his death was suspicious?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
She pushed a slender hand through her hair again and her frown deepened but she remained silent.
Horton said, ‘Why do you think your husband’s having an affair?’ He watched for her reaction and waited for her to demand what that had to do with him or Kenton’s death but she didn’t. She stared straight ahead but her brisk footsteps never faltered.
‘The usual thing,’ she said after a moment. ‘His mobile phone ringing and him going out of the room to answer it. And although Brett’s always worked irregular and long hours there seems to be an even greater reluctance to come home and when he does he often goes out very soon afterwards or up to his study. He avoids being with me as much as possible. It’s been like that for months and I’ve just got to the stage where I have to know.’
He was slightly surprised by her forthrightness. After her initial remarks he had expected reticence.
&nbs
p; She continued. ‘We’ve been married for twenty-five years, Inspector. Our son, John, is a nursing officer in the Royal Navy. Brett would have liked him to be a doctor but John didn’t want that. He has a first-class honours degree in adult nursing.’
She said it proudly and a little defiantly as though she dared him to say it wasn’t enough. Was that what her husband said?
‘I thought that if Brett no longer wants me then I don’t see why I should hang around wasting my life waiting for someone who doesn’t care for me.’ She threw him a glance. He couldn’t read her expression. He heard no bitterness in her voice. She simply stated it as fact.
‘I engaged the Swallows Agency at the end of September following a meeting with Eunice Swallows at a café on the seafront in Portsmouth. There she introduced me to Mr Kenton who said he would be investigating my husband. I knew that if I confronted Brett without any evidence he’d just say I was being stupid. Brett is a very thorough man who likes to deal in facts.’
‘He sounds like a lawyer,’ Horton said, fishing.
‘He’s an ophthalmic consultant surgeon.’
No wonder he could afford such a prestigious property backing on to the Solent. And perhaps that explained her defensiveness when she’d spoken of her son’s career. No doubt Brett Veerman had expectations of his son becoming a doctor rather than a nurse.
The trees suddenly gave way to open fields either side of them and on their right Horton could see the ruins of the original abbey, which Brother Norman had told him had been established in the early 1100s until Henry VIII had dismantled it. Thelma Veerman showed no inclination to turn back as they headed towards the modern abbey, built at the turn of the last century.
‘Had Mr Kenton discovered anything?’ asked Horton.
‘Only that Brett had bought an apartment in Portsmouth three months ago without telling me and in his name alone. But Mr Kenton said he couldn’t find any evidence of there being another woman.’ She threw him a glance. ‘Have you found evidence of an affair?’
He thought of that bland minimalistic flat. ‘No. But then we’re not looking for it.’
‘Of course.’
She seemed worried, understandably so given that she not only suspected her husband of marital infidelity but that he was soon to discover he had been spied upon. He wondered what his reaction would be. Was she afraid of her husband? Was he abusive, either physically or mentally, or both? Would he walk out on her or give her the silent treatment? Maybe he’d be able to answer some of those questions after speaking with him.
‘When did you last see or speak to Mr Kenton?’
‘Thursday at midday.’
Four and a half hours before he had left the office.
‘The arrangement was that I call him at a pre-set time every Thursday from a payphone.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That he had nothing further to report except that my husband wasn’t in debt so he wasn’t lavishing money on this other woman and so far he couldn’t trace any other assets belonging to Brett or any other bank accounts here or abroad but he was still working on that. And he was also tracking Internet sites for conferences and seminars Brett attended to see if any particular woman cropped up frequently at the same places as him.’
‘An affair with a colleague?’
‘It’s the most logical explanation. I can’t see Brett risking his career and reputation by having an affair with a patient.’
Horton could see that there was something else bothering her, but whether that was about Kenton’s death and her husband’s alleged infidelity or something completely different he didn’t know and she didn’t seem inclined to tell him.
He said, ‘Were you and your husband at home last night?’
‘I was. Brett was working late, or so he said,’ she added now with a hint of nervousness.
‘What time did he get in?’
‘Two a.m.’
Horton didn’t bother hiding his surprise. ‘That’s very late to be working.’
‘Brett often has operations until very late. Last night could have been the case. He might have been called to undertake an emergency operation. Or that’s what he’d say if I questioned him. For all I know he could have been meeting this woman in this apartment of his.’
And had Jasper Kenton been on to that? Again he wondered if Brett Veerman had discovered Kenton keeping a surveillance on him and confronted him about it. Even if he had done it didn’t mean he’d killed him. And how would Veerman have got the body here? He couldn’t have sailed that small dinghy Horton had just seen in the garden from Portsmouth to the island in the dark and rain. Perhaps there was a bigger boat in the boathouse or down on the shore out of sight.
He said, ‘How do you know it was two a.m.?
‘I looked at the clock when I heard him come in.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘There was no point.’ She fell silent as they walked on. Horton let it stretch for a while in case she wanted to add something. She didn’t.
They had reached the abbey grounds and Thelma Veerman halted. Ahead the path led to the café and gift shop. It would be closed now, it was well after four-thirty and soon if they didn’t head back they’d be walking in the dark.
The chapel bell sounded. ‘That’s Vespers,’ Thelma Veerman said, looking up at the abbey clock. ‘Evening prayer. Saint Benedict said it should be done before the lamps are lit. “Be ye angry, and sin not: not let the sun go down upon your wrath.” Ephesians chapter four verse twenty six. It’s about forgiveness.’
She turned back towards the house leaving him to ponder what she meant. Forgiveness for her when her husband discovered she’d engaged a private detective, or forgiveness for her husband for killing Jasper Kenton? Or perhaps she should forgive her husband for having a lover. Maybe she’d already done that many times in their married life.
Horton fell into step beside her, feeling her sadness. She called the dogs to heel. They came instantly. After a while Horton broke the silence. ‘Has your husband been out this morning?’
‘Only on the dinghy at nine-thirty. And again this afternoon.’
‘Is it usual for him to go sailing twice in one day?’
‘Occasionally, yes. With the winter coming on he probably thinks he won’t get much more chance to do so. He says sailing helps him to relax. Maybe the operation last night wasn’t a success. He doesn’t talk about his work.’
Horton wondered what they did talk about, but as she’d already explained, they had stopped communicating it seemed a long time ago. He thought Veerman must be a very experienced sailor to have gone out in this afternoon’s weather. He’d know all about sails, bowline knots, the Solent, its coasts and marinas.
‘Do you have another boat as well as the dinghy?’
‘Not now. We used to own a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey thirty-two-foot yacht. We sold it when John left home seven years ago.’
Perhaps Kenton had found evidence of Brett Veerman owning another boat. And maybe he’d followed him to it.
‘What made you choose the Swallows Agency?’
‘I’d been thinking about engaging a private investigation agency for some time. I couldn’t research them on the Internet at home in case Brett checked my viewing history on the computer or on my phone so I used the library in Ryde to look some up. It had to be a Portsmouth agency because that is where Brett is primarily based although he has a clinic at the private hospital at Havant and treats patients at the Moorfields Eye Hospital in London, as well as giving lectures all over the world. I liked the idea of Swallows because it’s run by a woman and I thought she would understand.’
‘Were you disappointed when she allocated the work to Mr Kenton?’
‘Not after meeting him, no. Eunice Swallows convinced me that Mr Kenton was the best person for the job. I’m sorry he’s dead.’ She eyed him curiously and again with that frown of concern. ‘Do you think his death has anything to do with his job?’
Horton gave his stock ans
wer of it being too early to say but added, ‘I need to speak to your husband, Mrs Veerman.’
‘I know.’
‘Have you told him about the private investigation agent?’
‘No.’ She tensed and pulled herself up. ‘I guess this will finally force things into the open.’
Horton rather thought it would.
EIGHT
She asked him to wait in the hall while she fetched her husband, who was still in the garden even though it was growing dark. He guessed it was to give her time to break the news to him.
Horton glanced around the spacious modern hallway with wide tall windows that stretched to the height of the house. It was gloomy, empty and cold. It was also spotlessly clean but there were no paintings on the plain cream-coloured walls, no furniture and all the doors giving off into the rooms both to his left and right and further down the hallway to the rear of the house were closed. The light grey tiled floor made it feel cold and bleak, reflecting the Veermans’ marriage, he thought.
He headed for the rear of the house where he pushed open a door and stepped into a white modern kitchen that echoed the cold, unwelcoming feeling of the hall. It and the house seemed at odds with Thelma Veerman and the dogs. She should have been in a country house traditionally furnished, he thought, gazing out of the wide patio windows that gave on to the lawns. Standing by the water’s edge, Horton could see in the lights attached to the boathouse Thelma Veerman talking to her husband. Brett Veerman was still beside the dinghy but no longer hosing it down. Horton wondered what he’d been doing while they’d been taking their walk. Maybe he had only just finished giving the boat a thorough cleaning. And why would he take so long doing that? Was it more than salt water he was trying to wash off?
Horton couldn’t see Thelma’s face but he could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was telling her husband about Swallows. Brett Veerman was eyeing her with a frown on his dark-featured face, which even from here Horton could see had strength and intelligence. Thelma gestured towards the house and Veerman glanced towards where Horton was standing. Could he see him in the gloom?
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